Chapter 137 BOOK 2: CHAPTER 27

Chapter 137 BOOK 2: CHAPTER 27
—Amira—
Two bright lines appeared on the test. So bright it knocked the air from my lungs.
I wiped my eyes just to be sure my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. But it was there.
A big fat positive.
“I'm pregnant,” the words slipped from my lips before I could even stop them. I stumbled backward until my back hit the cold wall of the bathroom.
Tears pricked my eyes. A mix of emotions surging through me.
I reached for my phone, grabbed Eloise's contact card and dialed her number.
It rang once, and she picked up.
“Hello.”
“It's me, Amira.”
“Hello, Amira.” Her tone softened. “What's up?”
“Nat and I arrived in London. We stopped by the mall. I–I couldn't wait to see the doctor, so I grabbed a HPT.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I'm pregnant.”
There was a moment of silence. Then she gasped again and again.
“Oh my God… Amira. How are you feeling?”
I caressed my belly. “I'm good.”
“Does Nathaniel know?”
“Not yet.” I swallowed, my eyes locked on my reflection in the mirror. “I'm by myself.”
“Where are you? Where's Nate?”
“He's at the mall. I'm in the bathroom.”
“So are you going to tell him?”
I walked to the basin and picked up the test, the weight of everything settling in.
Whether I liked it or not, this was tied to a traumatic phase in my life; memories I was trying to forget.
“I don’t remember everything,” I whispered.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“When I was trafficked to the States… there were gaps. Blackouts. Things I don’t remember.”
“Nathaniel is the only man I’ve been with. I’m sure of that.”
“But I need to be sure. I need to know that no one else… that this baby is truly his.”
Seconds of silence followed.
“I'm sorry you had to go through all that, Amira,” Eloise exhaled. “No one gets to question why you need that certainty. What was done to you stole enough already.”
I sniffled. “Thank you. I wouldn't want to tell him now only to find out it's not his.”
“I get you. And your feelings are valid, dear.”
A faint smile touched my lips, my hands tightening around the phone.
“Is there a way I can conduct a DNA test while I'm still pregnant?”
“Of course. We have a couple of them, but I'd suggest a Non-Invasive Prenatal Paternity(NIPP) test.”
I blinked. “How do I take the test without Nathaniel knowing?”
“Just let me know whenever you’re ready, and I’ll come over and discreetly take you to the hospital. Don’t worry. I’ll handle all the bills, everything.”
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Her voice softened even more. “Alright. I’ll check with Nathaniel where you’ll be tomorrow, and I’ll come get you. We’ll go to the hospital together, okay?
I beamed. “Thank you so much.”
“You're welcome,” she murmured. “Talk to you later.”
“Bye!” I said, and ended the call.
I leaned on the basin and let out a relieved breath. Finally… finally, the storm inside me eased, even for a moment. 
Just as I straightened, a series of text messages buzzed my phone. Nathaniel.
‘Where are you, baby?’
‘Your number isn’t connecting.’
‘Are you on a call or something?’
Just as I read the last text, his call entered my phone. 

. . . .
—Nathaniel—
My heart pounded as if I'd just completed a marathon. I could barely breathe.
The past two days had been nothing but the best days of our lives. At least, we'd settled our differences, confessed our love to each other, even made our relationship public.
This morning, I'd found her whispering something with Eloise in one of the yacht's bathrooms. When I asked, my sister had dismissed it for some pleasantries. And I believed her.
Amira and I had made love in the bathtub. After we joined my siblings at the breakfast table, I announced we'd be going to London and she'd accepted.
She wanted to come to London. She wanted to be with me.
So where had she gone?
Only ten minutes ago, she was browsing through a rack of handbags. When I turned around again, she was gone.
Since then, anxiety had gnawed at me as her number wouldn't connect— and trepidation when she wouldn't reply to my text messages.
Had her ex-boyfriend tracked and kidnapped her?
“Check every camera on every floor,” I instructed the head of my security. “Monitor the Wi-Fi network for her device's MAC address.”
“Yes sir,” he answered and headed away.
I lifted my phone to my ear again, only to hear her voice.
“Nathaniel.”
I turned around and saw her walking toward me, her handbag in hand, and a smile curving her lips. Never in my life had I felt so relieved.
I met her halfway and pulled her into my arms, kissing her temple.
“Where have you been?”
She looped her arms around me, her body trembling slightly, as though she too had been terrified by the few minutes we’d spent apart.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I had to quickly use the bathroom.”
I kissed her forehead, her cheeks. “You had me worried. For a moment, I thought you'd been abducted right under my nose.”
She straightened. “I'm fine.”
My brows creased. “Did you see my text messages? Why wasn't your number connecting?”
“I—I” she stuttered. “I thought I’d be right back. I didn’t mean to make you panic.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I lifted my phone, updated the head of my security, before turning to Amira again.
“Let's go home,” I murmured.
We shared a smile and walked back to our convoy in the parking lot. She rested her head on my shoulder while I gazed across the tinted windows as we rolled past the streets of London.
Mayfair loomed ahead, just as I remembered.
The convoy slowed. The cars disappeared into the private underground garage, the gate sliding shut with that familiar whisper of steel.
Amira lifted her head, curiosity crossing her features as she took in my penthouse.
But she asked no questions. Only took my hand when I opened her door and followed me quietly into the elevator.
She squealed as I swooped her into my arms and carried her to the dining room amidst the stares of my domestic staff.
The aroma of the food filled the air, and the sight on the table was tantalizing. 
Yet when Amira settled down in her chair, she barely touched her food.
Then she jerked to feet... excused herself from the table and bolted.
“Didn't you like the food?” I asked as I joined her in the bedroom.
“The food was delicious,” she said. “But I didn't have the appetite.”
Her words faded into a yawn, and before I could respond, she dozed off.
I stood there for a moment, watching her breathe, the faintest crease between my brows.
Of course, she was exhausted from all the trips and events.
Exhaling, I covered her to the midriff with the blanket, and traced my way to the terrace.
The cool London air brushed my face as I sank in a recliner. I turned to the housekeeper behind me.
“A glass of Rosé, please.”
Seconds later, my drink sat on the coffee table beside me.
Just as I picked it up, ready to drink, my phone rang.
I fished the phone from my pocket and froze. Great-grandmother Emelda.
Her calls were rare—and never casual.
Yet here she was calling on a video call.
Had I landed in trouble?